The couple walked across the street to a small park area with four benches and two open top steel cooking grills. The park showed recent neglect; the grass and weeds hadn’t been mowed recently, and the trash barrels overflowed. After sitting in the shade, Sam questioned JR while Smokey chased and returned a ball, “You’ve been too quiet since our shootout. Want to talk about it . . . need to talk about it?”
She sat silently pensive for several long seconds. “Three days ago, I never dreamed I’d ever have to kill another human; it was something completely alien to my nature. Shooting was something I learned only because it pleased my dad and fit my tomboy bent. . . . I planned to go dancing last Saturday night. That didn’t happen. Minutes after leaving work, I learned my family members were zombies, and I was running from dead people. Dead people are supposed to stay dead and be buried.” Turning toward Sam, she continued, “I don’t disagree with shooting those people; they forced it and deserved it. On one level I accept it was necessary and want to move on. But still I question why it had to happen . . . happen to me. I didn’t ask for it, didn’t do anything to cause it, didn’t want or plan to do it.” Her hands nervously fidgeted in her lap, fingers entwining with each other. “Trying to please my dad by being the son he didn’t get made me tougher than other girls; hell, I’m tougher emotionally and physically than most guys I know. But that’s the outside image of me. I’m still an emotional, caring woman inside; I’m not Bonnie Parker. Killing people is a huge step away from cussing too much, throwing a football, and being a tomboy.” She took the slobbery ball from Smokey and tossed it again. Wiped her fingers on her pants.
JR was silent for several beats. Sam made as if to speak, but she waved him off and shook her head. “I’m still working on how I feel about killing one person and wounding another so badly he likely died. I’m accepting it happened and feel sure I’ll be able to live with it in the future. But how many other assholes will force me to use violence against them to ensure our safety? I don’t want to become a cold blooded killer, but I sense that’s coming. I heard a saying kill or be killed somewhere in the past. I guess it will become the mantra of the zombie survivors because if they hesitate, they’ll not be survivors for long.”
Sam placed his hand on her arm and squeezed lightly. “I wish I could help you. I don’t even know where to start. It’s similar but not exactly like that for me. I know for certain those people had to be shot and killed to be stopped. What I didn’t expect was the feelings of knowing what had to be done up against the actual taking of those lives. Yet at the same time, I accept it will need to be done again in the future if we are to live and keep the material items we need to survive. But my feelings don’t help you deal with your issues.”
“Right. You can’t help with my emotional issues because you’re a man and don’t share them or understand them. Your genes dictated that you be the aggressor, the warrior, the protector. It’s your natural role. Although using full force raises issues, you make yourself do it anyway. My role is to be the child bearer and nurturer. That women’s lib crap where they want to make wusses out of men goes against nature. You are what you are, and I am what I am. And there are reason’s we’re what we are. Left alone we complement each other’s strengths and weaknesses.” JR took a deep breath. “I accept there are people born who emotionally straddle the two genes, but I don’t think trying to change ninety-five percent of us who know we’re male or female is logical. She stared ahead, “When did you first know you could shoot people who would need to be dealt with harshly?”
“Well, I guess for several years I’ve been aware of the term ‘toxic masculinity’, the aggressiveness extreme women’s libers rail against. I disagree with their vision of making the male and female genders blend emotionally into one new gender for the same reasons you do. I’ve always felt a responsibility to protect others when I could; that’s why soldiers fight to protect people in our country they don’t even know. As far as recent feelings, I accepted there would be violence as the zombie apocalypse started overseas. Several months ago I accepted there would be rogue humans who would impose their strengths on weaker people. They did it before even with law enforcement to contain and stop them. Without lawmen, I assumed the bad actors would be free to intimidate at will. We’ve seen that firsthand; this morning was a prime example. I vowed months ago to only let people go so far with that behavior. I feel when to react and how harshly to respond are issues we’ll need to decide as those occasions develop. I don’t have a set list of how much to tolerate before I react. The bottom line is, I’ll not let others take what is mine by force if I can stop them. The people we shot went way too far over that boundary. They had to be stopped. If we hadn’t done it, the people behind us would have tried. After the State Trooper was murdered, there was no way for that group to walk that back. They were desperate takers and killers from then on. What we have to accept is it was their choice.”
Sam moved his hand away from JR. She gripped his hand, squeezed, and continued to hold him close. “It looks like you’re stuck with me, at least into Canada. Please be patient and discuss all this strange crap when I need it. You’re my pillar of strength, and I need frequent pep talks; but I will get there, I promise. I not only want to, I have to support you because I don/t want to be a drag.” She looked away for several seconds, then back to Sam. “I could use a cold beer,” she said, “how about you?”
“Yeah. If you’ll get them, I’ll chase Smokey around the park until he wears me down.”
“I’ll bring steaks, potatoes, and charcoal back and cook supper here too.”
They grilled thick rib eye steaks from the coolers and baked Idaho potatoes over an open fire while they drank two more beers from a small cooler as the conversation continued.
They stayed up late talking and slept in the next morning. Marty woke Sam a few minutes past eight Wednesday morning to raise the hood to remove the fuel injectors. Smokey had been restless since seven, so JR was already up and dressed.
Sam asked Marty if there was a restaurant in the small town of four hundred people. “Only one, if she’s still open,” he said. “Vera’s Diner is across the street and south from the gas station.” They walked the three blocks in a cool early morning breeze.
Several motorhomes and rigs with trailers were parked on both sides of the street fronting Vera’s. Inside they sat at the only available table in the small serving room. One woman held a small lap dog. Several customers wore handguns in open carry. Their young server said, “We’re out of sausage and ham. We have eggs, bacon, and pancakes, toast, English muffins, two percent milk, and coffee.” They placed their orders and asked for double bacon with one pancake for Smokey.
It was past two that afternoon before repairs were completed. When Marty was paid, he said he didn’t have another job scheduled, so he and the wife were leaving within the hour. Sam tipped him five, one hundred dollar bills for staying and repairing his truck. Without his help, they would have been stranded.
They went back to the gas station to refill the clean, empty fuel tank. Sam questioned the attendant and was assured all fuel tanks were being checked for water every two hours. While they fueled, a small, local fuel tanker delivered gasoline and diesel. The driver told the attendant it would be their last delivery unless the fuel depot received a surprise delivery they didn’t anticipate. He indicated the pipeline bringing fuel to the local depot was even shutting down because of a lack of employees.
An hour later, a highway information sign indicated Interstate Highway 94 was a mile ahead. Sam had checked his map earlier and said, “We’ll bypass Bismarck by going straight north on two lane State Highway 14, then take State Highway 36 west to US 83 again. That should be quicker and less nerve racking than fighting our way through a major city in heavy traffic. I don’t like the idea of being jammed together in bumper to bumper traffic with drivers acting like they’re on a racetrack. ”
Near Highway 83 a compact SUV with a mid-sized trailer pulled from the
shoulder and got ahead of them before the highway entrance ramp. Sam glanced at the clock as he braked and slowed to twenty MPH. The time was three thirty-three. Both units started down the entrance ramp’s long, gradual decline to Highway 83. The SUV picked up speed on the short downhill slope and Sam followed a good hundred feet behind. Instinctively, Sam backed off the throttle and lightly pumped the brakes to slow his rig. Highway traffic was too congested for his rig and the SUV to both merge left into the right lane together. The SUV’s speed was too slow to merge with dense, high-speed traffic even by itself. As was the new norm, the slow traffic was running well above the posted speed limit and the fast drivers were jockeying for position to pass them. The traffic wasn’t bumper to bumper, but the large vehicles were too close for the speed they were running at. Sam didn’t like the looks of what was building. He slightly increased pressure on the brake pedal and felt the ABS thumping.
The SUV driver tried to bull his way into congested traffic on the two lanes running north, but the other drivers didn’t slow to create an opening. Sam’s heavy trailer pushed the truck dangerously. He yelled, “Hang on, this could be bad.” JR grabbed Smokey, stared at the line of traffic, and said, “Oh, shit.” At the end of the merge lane, the SUV was fast running out of pavement, and the truck next to it wouldn’t back off even with the SUV honking furiously. With a loud crash, the SUV slammed against a pickup pulling a large travel trailer. After colliding, the two vehicles bounced apart erratically. The pickup wallowed left across the inside lane crashing into a motorhome alongside it. The motorhome went into the grassy median and knocked a light pole over at the base before it rolled across into the almost vacant southbound lanes. The pickup’s trailer jackknifed, broke loose, and rolled over several time across the left lane as it disintegrated into the median
The SUV jackknifed as its trailer broke loose and then slewed across the right lane against the pickup as the trailer collapsed into pieces scattering across both lanes. The SUV flipped over and spun on its top right in front of Sam’s truck. Sam’s ABS pumped rhythmically to slow his rig as he stood on the brake pedal. The overweight trailer continued pushing the pickup. He fought the steering wheel to prevent his rig from jackknifing and the units wobbled and shuddered, but basically stayed straight. Vehicles in the right lane had slowed dramatically to give him room and avoid the debris on both lanes.
The SUV spun and slid to the shoulder and Sam’s Ford approached it fast as JR stared wide-eyed. The truck slowed marginally with each yard it traveled. JR increased her hold on Smokey with her left arm and grasped a hand hold near the ceiling with her right hand and again yelled, “Oh, shit,” when it was clear they would collide. Finally the front brush guard smacked the side of the SUV and made a sizable dent in the sheet metal. The impact skidded the SUV to the shoulder toward a low concrete abutment under an overpass. Sam saw an open, clear path ahead and hoped his rig would fit; it would be tight. Squeezing between the SUV and its destroyed trailer would give him an open shot north; he hoped he hadn’t misjudged the space. There was no alternative, so he got off the brake, hit the fuel pedal, and surged ahead.
Behind them tires squalled, metal scraped and tore, and the sounds of impact were long and frightful. Traffic running seventy and eighty MPH was in a major pileup. From images in his side mirrors, Sam estimated wrecked vehicles sprawled at least ten or twelve deep and two and three or four wide behind them. Vehicles and trailers filled both lanes and both shoulders. The motor home behind him appeared unscathed and followed him through the opening. As Sam’s truck continued slicing through the tight space, JR looked behind them in the side mirror and said, “The red SUV is on the shoulder and two people are crawling out of it. I predict they’ll be shot or beat to death for causing that pileup.” Riding partly on the edge of the shoulder, Sam focused on gliding past the wreckage, let out the breath he’d held, and continued north toward Minot.
JR exhaled forcefully. “That was too damned close.”
Sam turned to JR as he sighed. “That is why I’m holding our speed to fifty-five. If we’d been in the middle of that bunch of crazies running seventy plus our equipment would be disabled and we could be injured or dead. Getting to the Canadian border in one piece is what matters most; we lost a day for engine repairs, so being another day late won’t matter that much. The people in the middle of that pileup are out of the race now and will become zombies very soon just because fear drove them to make stupid decisions. The butthole in the pickup who wouldn’t give way was just as much to blame as the nut in the SUV who tried to force his way in without being up to speed. The SUV was in the way preventing me from accelerating to seventy five to merge safely—in retrospect, I should have stopped at the start of the entrance and waited for the SUV to merge and the entry lane to be clear instead of getting that close to it.”
“I agree with that. And there’ll be no more comments from me about going too slow. I thought we were dead back there. I still don’t know how the hell you managed to get through that mess without a scratch.”
“We’ll know about any damage when we stop. The front brush guard smacked that SUV a good wallop but, being on its roof, it slid easily. Had it been upright on all four tires we may have had considerable front end damage. That heavy-duty brush guard Dad installed may have saved us. He paid more than a thousand dollars for it, and at the time, I thought it was a wasteful extravagance. But it turned out to be a good investment.”
“Somewhat lucky maybe, but you did a great job keeping us from jackknifing like the SUV did.”
“Thanks. The electric brakes on the trailer helped greatly, but it’s overloaded past their capacity.”
“I wonder,” JR mused, “if any of the rigs in the middle and further back in that pileup were undamaged and will be able to work their way through the wreckage and continue.”
“Don’t know, but I hope so for their sake. Otherwise I’m sure they’re condemned to being zombies.”
They thought in silence for a time until Sam said, “Are you getting hungry? We ate at noon before we left Strasburg and it’s nearly four thirty. If you have something to snack on, we might go on past Minot to get closer to the border and learn from others how long we’ll have to wait in line.”
JR nodded. “Yeah. That’s good. There’s plenty of cheese and crackers and chips and jerky. Smokey is getting antsy; he needs to run. Stop at Minot for fuel and I’ll use the restroom then play with him until we leave.”
“Agreed. We should be near Minot in another hour and a half, around six.”
They left Minot Wednesday at six thirty. Fifteen miles north of Minot, they stopped at a truck stop forty miles from the border. The parking lot was packed. An eighteen wheeler was pulling out of a double long space and Sam pulled in right behind it. Smokey was left in the truck because the restaurant was noisy and too crowded for him to run loose. They walked around the rig inspecting it for damage. Scraped chrome on the front brush guard was the only damage they saw in the late afternoon glow, and it was minor.
They entered the packed restaurant and stood to the side with several others. From truckers they learned the Canadian Government had closed all border crossings two days earlier. The Canadian Army and civilian volunteers were enforcing the closures. No one was allowed to cross from the US into Canada for fear of spreading the virus.
A disgruntled trucker said traffic was backed up more than twenty miles from the border and the line was getting longer by the hour. A second driver chimed in to say he had a short wave radio and told them it's the same at all the border crossings into Canada. He added, “A lot of reports indicate several people have been shot trying to force their way into Canada at the Army controlled crossing points. Others say civilian volunteers at non-crossing areas are shooting anyone even close to the border who look like they’re getting ready to cross. Vancouver and Quebec are holding on but slowly losing ground to the zombies. The Atlantic Provinces were lost several days ago.” Sam and JR shook their heads in disbelief. The truck
er speaking added, “I’ve dropped my load here and will try to get to Indiana to my family. I’m hauling frozen beef that was destined for Canada. I’ll open the doors and let the people have it. Come on, I’ll give you folks first crack at it.” They went with the driver and claimed several large packages of hamburger and beef steaks, maybe thirty pounds. JR said, “Thanks, but without a freezer any more will just spoil. We’ll be hard pressed to eat this much while we’re traveling every day.” Sam gave the driver one of the 9mm pistols, a fifty round box of ammo, and five hundred dollars to thank him for his generosity. He intended to reward good people for good acts of kindness. It was second nature because it was how he’d been raised.
Sam and J.R. stored the meat in the coolers, then went back inside to order beers, cheeseburgers, and fries. The truck stop manager had quadrupled the price of everything for sale and wanted cash up front. A beer cost $16.00 and a cheeseburger $25. Sam refused to pay the inflated prices just on principle, even though he could well afford it. The restaurant was jammed to overflowing with grumbling truck drivers and others waiting for the border issue to be resolved. Sam and JR turned to leave. Outside, four truckers stood at the doors to enter. Sam said, "There's a national crisis taking place and this asshole manager is robbing everyone instead of being a decent human being. He's charging at least four times the normal price. I'll burn the money I have left before I pay that robber."
They hurried to the truck and got their own beers out of a cooler. Setting inside the cab, they discussed their meager options. Sam's backup plan was to go west into Northern Idaho. J.R. shrugged and agreed with a nod because she had no better suggestion. They'd seen several restaurants on their way through Minot and stopped at the first one still open.
They glanced inside the truck stop prior to leaving and saw a crowd of drivers had the store manager corralled against a wall. JR shook her head in dismay. “Even if the drivers force the manager to drop the food prices back to near normal, it will be hours before everyone is served.” The lot was overcrowded, and it took several minutes of jiggling back and forth to exit through the haphazardly parked vehicles jammed into every opening.
Running To Escape: A Sam & JR Zombie Thriller Page 9